


Four Art-Inspired Ficlets

by Rubynye



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Inspired by Art, Kissing, M/M, Multi, NSFW Art, Pegging, Pre-Serum, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Strap-Ons, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Natasha/Pepper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefilthiestpiglet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/gifts), [Ilthit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilthit/gifts), [Bluandorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/gifts).



> Because, while I love 4F, I missed Sam and Natasha and several others, and because the fan artists in this fandom are amazing.

http://sollertia-amatoria.tumblr.com/post/106227753727/december-2014

 

Pepper opens her supposedly locked office door, finds an unexpected visitor perched calmly on the right arm of the left couch, and relaxes all over. "Natalie," she breathes, stepping in shakily, shutting the door behind her. She knows that's not the real name of the woman smiling demurely at her -- Tony was _so_ indignant -- but that's the name she wore when Pepper met her, the name Pepper fell for her under. "You're -- how are you?"

Natalie -- Natalia Alianovna Romanova, Natasha Romanoff, her name and face and career splashed all over the news channels and every paper's front page -- shrugs minutely, smile small and lopsided. "At loose ends," she says in a soft voice, clear and seemingly emotionless. But she lets it show in her wide eyes, both the freedom and the fear, and Pepper's honored to be allowed to see it. She nods as she sits beside Natasha, who leans her hip on Pepper's shoulder, a warm weight of sleek cloth, soft skin, firm muscle. "At least I have time to think about what I'd like to do."

"Want a job?" Pepper offers, because it's what she has to give. Natasha shakes her head, her lips curling upwards, the smile brightening her eyes.

"Not yet. Right now I'm just taking some time for myself, visiting a few friends." She wriggles a little, tucking her leg to Pepper's side, not really pressing, just there.

Pepper smiles, thinking of the smartest, prettiest, most efficient assistant she's ever had, and looks up at Natasha looking back at her. "You can crash on my couch anytime," she says dryly, and watches Natasha's smile widen to shining.

"Thank you." Natasha cups Pepper's cheek in her strong hand as Pepper turns to her, curving eager fingers under the strong swell of her thigh. "I took the liberty of clearing your calendar for the afternoon," she teases.

Pepper has to laugh, and push up onto her knees, leaning into Natasha's gentle pull. "Thank you, Natalie."

"Anytime, Ms. Potts," Natasha murmurs over her mouth in a smiling slide of lipstick, just before their lips softly meet.


	2. Peggy/Steve/Bucky

http://faun-songs.tumblr.com/post/111950377650/since-i-dont-have-the-time-for-the-full-photoset-i

Panting, licking his lips, Steve rests his forehead on Bucky's thigh, gently butting against the hard muscle twitching beneath the skin. Bucky's gasping too, fingers stroking through Steve's hair, other hand curved warm behind his neck, and Steve presses his right cheek to Bucky's thigh, missing just a tiny bit how it used to be broader and softer, before war hardened Buck all over. 

Mostly, though, he licks his bittersweetly slick lips and listens with his right ear, enjoying Bucky's familiar hands in his hair, listening to Peggy's pleased hum as she steps forward for her turn, Steve's turn, whatever it is. "Impressively done," she tells him in her warm rich voice, a moment before she lays a hand on his ankle; he feels Bucky's chuckle more than hears it as he opens his right eye to take her in, naked and curvy and gorgeous, the big rubber dick bobbing between her thighs. "Ready for me?"

Steve's tongue, formerly so nimble around Bucky's cock, won't work at all now as Peggy leans forward in her gorgeousness, but he nods, rubbing his cheek on the furred breadth of Bucky's thigh, and spreads his thighs a little more. "Hey, Carter," Bucky rumbles over him, holding Steve's head down just firmly enough, "Don't go easy on him." Steve could push out of Bucky's grip and glare up at him, or he can press into it and enjoy it. He enjoys it.

"Barnes, good man," Peggy purrs, setting one sleek knee beside Steve's, then the other, the mattress shifting with her weight, "I wouldn't dream of it." Her fingers wrap around Steve's waist, long and strong and tipped with bright crescent nails that dig just so sharp-sweetly into his skin. "Now," she murmurs, nudging his slicked, ready, achingly eager hole, "if I have your undivided attention?"

She does, as Steve sucks in a breath, as Peggy pushes slowly and smoothly into him, filling him heavily until he twinges and whimpers, till he keens his delight. Oh, she absolutely does.


	3. Bucky/Natasha

http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com/post/112175298558/all-the-proportions-are-wrong-in-this-picture-but

When Bucky tucks his needful face between Natasha's strong thighs, he remembers. As he licks her plump lips until they part like a secret gate, as he sucks a soft kiss over her little clit, coaxing it slowly out, he remembers her. The fire-haired girl in the Red Room's line of adolescents, the maiden dancing with a knife strapped to her ankle, the clever-handed assassin at the top of her class. Her heel digs sweetly into his shoulder as he mouths a redolent fold, her fingers weave through his hair as he raises his empty hands, wrapping his flesh arm around her warm hips, stroking two metal fingertips up the margin below her entrance. 

"Pa'shlee," she murmurs low, and he remembers her voice deepening from treble to alto, watching through one-way glass as her strapped-down body arched off the metal table, whispering secrets in her porcelain ear of how to push back against the triggers shackled around their minds. He obediently speeds his tongue, long dragging licks from velvety lower rim to the upper meeting of her outer lips, and when she curls appreciatively over him her slickly-scarred belly presses his brow. He remembers the auburn woman poised between him and his target, the dragging fragments of scoured out memory tugging uselessly against the hand raising his gun. 

He would kiss her there, he will later, when her thighs aren't tensing around his head, when her once-steady breathing isn't subtly accelerating . Judging his moment, he slides his metal fingers into her deceptively yielding body and she ripples tight around them; 'l-e-t g-o' he writes with his tongue tip across the tiny round of her clit, and she puffs a low laugh over his hair, presses her belly to his forehead with a deeper inhale, and flexes around his fingers tightly enough to break the flesh ones. 

He's asked her if he can let her, if he can feel her true strength hot and tender around his human fingers, never mind the risk. She laughed at him, eyes crinkling, the memory overlaid now on the first time he won her laugh in the Red Room, the way her silk-fine lashes fluttered over her eyes as she recovered from the first kiss he gave her. He suckles a little harder and she shivers around him, pulsing in a wild rhythm as she starts to come for him.

He doesn't let up, just as he didn't when teaching her to dodge and to take a knife, as he did when he pursued the bright flash of her hair off a cliff outside Odessa, as he did when she plugged a bullet into his goggles and for the first time in a life of lost memories he _felt_ , hot and sharp, strongly enough to set off in pursuit. She gasps louder, curling tighter, goading him on with heel and hand, pulling him on a leash of desire. He breathes deep, filling his lungs with her, presses his nose into her softness and keeps sucking over and over as she shudders up into one prize of a cry and the tension snaps, all her limbs going lax as she slumps back in the chair, pushing her other heel against his metal shoulder like a brake pedal.

He pulls off and slides his smile over her skin, remembering once again how unbelievable pleasure feels coursing down nerves accustomed to bearing pain, her wide young eyes as he countered the Red Room's lessons until they took him away from her, the feathery arches of her eyebrows as she stepped up to him and said, "Welcome back."

She pets his hair, her hand steady, and he kisses just above her cunt and tips his head sideways onto her thigh, his whole body pleasantly tight, his heavy cock no more nor less important than the warmth trailing down his throat and curling in his belly, the present steady hum of his muscles. He doesn't do this to remember. He does it because she wants him to, because her full lips curve in a small true smile when she looks at him, because he can feel all of her life quivering on his tongue. He does it because she has graced him with permission he could never deserve. And every time he traces every tender curve of her cunt with worshipful lips and tongue, with each breathy gasp of delight he wins, brushing featherlight over his hair, he is blessed and cursed and engorged with memory like blood. Bucky makes love to Natasha with his mouth, and enjoys her enjoyment, and remembers.


	4. Sam/Steve

http://bluandorange.tumblr.com/post/112070232805/welcome-to-american-airlines-economy-flight-45

 

Sam wakes up in a warm bed, to pink dawnlight and birdsong, and opens his eyes to a sight straight from a dream: Steve wearing a soft smile, face smooth with relaxation, cheek pillowed on his hand. His big eyes shift under their long-lashed lids, his parted lips quiver like he's talking in a dream, his hips shift under the sheet: Sam checks, because he can, and yeah, Steve's rocking against the mattress, firmly and steadily. Sam catches a fond glimpse of his cock, flushed deep red, and purses his lips appreciatively. He'd whistle if he dared.

Steve's hips stop rolling. Sam takes his time looking up, because he can, running his gaze across the landscape of hard curves and planes, the beauty of Steve's naked body, He gets up to Steve's face and finds his soft smile unchanged even though his clear eyes are open and focused; shifting onto his side, Steve cocks an eyebrow's request, and Sam holds his arms out in answer. Steve shifts his smile, a little wider and even sweeter, and rolls in to press his face to Sam's throat, his body warm and firm all along Sam's side, his still-hard dick tucked against Sam's thigh. He seems to want to be wrapped up, so Sam does his best, throwing a leg over, curling both arms across his shoulders and back. "And you were there," Steve mutters, tickling his throat; it takes Sam a moment, and then he bursts out laughing, hugging Steve tighter as Steve smiles into his skin.

"Looked like a helluva happy dream from here," he says eventually. "Take it I got to participate?"

"You were the star of the show," Steve murmurs to him, tucking in even closer. "And I was my old little self, just in awe to have such a gorgeous fella sitting next to me."

"Damn right, gorgeous," Sam agrees, "and all for you. The kid you used to be?"

"Yeah." Even Steve's voice is small now. "That's not ridiculous?"

Shaking his head, Sam slides a hand down Steve's solid-muscled side and curls it around his dick in a gentle stroke, nothing too involved, just encouraging. "It sounds beautiful." He's seen pictures, of course, including ones no one else ever has because Steve drew them for him, self-portraits of a scrappy, pretty little man with Steve's unmistakable face, a bird-boned frame, long oversized hands and feet. "Was dream-me smart enough to make a move?" 

"It was that kinda dream, yeah," Steve says, voice tart enough to make Sam laugh again. "I don't remember any clothes. Just, how big you were beside me, your hands around my face as you kissed me."

Sam would kiss that fierce, lovely young man, given half a chance. He tips his chin down, coaxing Steve's up with a gentle hand, and kisses this trusting, beautiful man now. "Like that?"

"Well, with both hands," Steve rumbles, his smile tilting just a bit. "But I like where your hands are."

"Mmm, I should hope so, but what about yours? Logistics." Steve attempts to glare and Sam kisses him again, until he smiles into it, until he melts. "How about this," Sam murmurs over Steve's lips brushing his, "you get the lube and take over on this," with a little tug, "and show me what else we got up to in that dream. I assume you got that sweet little ass into my lap where it belongs?"

"Of course." Steve peels away for the bare second to rummage the bedside table, then swings his thigh across Sam's as he rolls back, straddling him. "Kiss me again," he murmurs, low and husky, as he slicks his fingers, and as Sam reaches up for Steve's face he notices that Steve doesn't go for either of their dicks, instead reaching back as he leans down. "Kiss me and I'll show you what we did next."

"Absolutely," Sam murmurs, cupping Steve's face in both hands, and kisses him, again and again, because he can.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4471457) by [Brenda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda)




End file.
